


The Best of All Possible Worlds

by igrab



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrab/pseuds/igrab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiny is not a matter of chance, it is a matter of choice; it is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best of All Possible Worlds

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Die beste aller Welten](https://archiveofourown.org/works/365415) by [ibangmyowndrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibangmyowndrum/pseuds/ibangmyowndrum)



> takes place after/spoilers for _Voyage of the Dawn Treader_ , decidedly movie-based.

This is the story that no one tells, because no one wants to admit that it's true.

•

  
Once upon a time, in a far-off land that was really a lot closer than most people might think, a king went home to his kingdom and the people rejoiced. He was a good king. He was wise, and just, and beautiful. He was the type of leader than men followed not out of obligation, but out of true loyalty. He had a ready smile and endless patience for the minutiae of ruling. He was, in short, perfect.

But he was alone.

You see, his was a heart that had touched greatness; had loved it, and when you've known those who are better than perfect until they've come right around to imperfect again, then nothing in this world seems quite good enough. So he smiled, but not with all of his joy. And he ruled, but he ruled alone, because he could not stomach the thought of a life beside anyone else.

•

  
Edmund Pevensie did not believe in God. He never had. It was always church this and church that and if you're not good, you'll go to Hell, which he'd always thought sounded much more interesting than Heaven anyway. But ever since the 'Voyage of the Dawn Treader', as Eustace had officially dubbed it, Lucy had taken a sudden and alarming interest in the teachings of the Bible.

"It's Aslan," she finally explained one day, in their new American rooms. The sea trip had been much less daunting after the Dawn Treader, but Edmund had felt sick anyway - homesick. He was always going to be homesick, wasn't he? For one home or the other. But apparently, Narnia was no longer their real home.

"What?" There he was, getting sidetracked again. Staring out the window and thinking of Narnia - of a rocking boat, a sword in his hand, and the one who'd given it to him.

"It's Aslan." She tapped the black cover of the worn little bible that sat on the bed between them. "Do you remember? He told us he's known by another name here; this is it. Jesus - that's his other name."

Edmund wrinkled his nose. " _Really_ , Lucy? Come on, that's a bit far-fetched."

"It all makes sense, though! You _know_ that what we've learned in Narnia is the same lessons that the Church teaches; we've just been blind, all this time. Narnia has been right here in front of us all out lives."

"Oh really?" He leaned back against the headboard, scowling. "I don't believe it. How can you even compare them? The Bible says you can't eat _shellfish_."

"Shellfish are not very good for you," Lucy said primly, but he could see that she was starting to waver.

"It also says men should grow out their beards."

Lucy sighed, unimpressed with Edmund's caustic rejoinders, and stood to leave with her bible and her new-found faith.

She stopped at the door and looked back.

"Really, Edmund, there's no need to be so mean."

And there wasn't. She was right. But he was grumpy, and worse than that, he was lonely. He'd gotten home only to remember that home was a fairytale, a distant place called 'America' where his family could be together again and everything would be perfect. Getting there - arriving at the place of your dreams - it should have felt like arriving in Narnia, like no matter what, everything was going to be fine.

Nothing was fine.

•

  
America was dirty and loud and it smelled. England did, too, and so did the ship, but somehow Edmund had thought that when they arrived in America that would all change. It was so easy to believe that fairytales were real, but sometimes he had to contend with the bleak truth that they simply weren't.

And yet, it seemed like Edmund was the only one experiencing this paradigm shift. Peter and Susan had clearly found lives for themselves, and Lucy spent all of two weeks missing England before she started making friends and believing in God and... moving on.

Of all of them, Edmund was the only one who couldn't seem to move on.

He started writing to Eustace with something approaching ferocity. Even if he didn't say anything important, even if it was just about the weather or what he was learning in school, it was proof that someone had been there, someone had seen the Dawn Treader and the King of Narnia and someone had been changed by it. Someone who wasn't moving on.

And then one day, he got the strangest reply.

 _Oh for God's sake, if you like him that much, make your own path to Narnia so you can stick your tongue down his throat and stop bothering me with your sick fantasies._

Edmund stared down at the letter, shocked. Then he quickly crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the fire, heart pounding.

Did he really talk about Caspian that much? Mostly, their letters were just small talk, but every now and then he might have mentioned him... well, maybe every other letter... okay, _most_ letters...

Edmund flopped down on his bed and covered his face with his hands. Thanks, Eustace. Now he was utterly unable to think of anything _but_ Caspian, and particularly, the... tongue thing. That. He very much wanted to do that.

It was just - there was no one else to talk to. His brother and sisters - they knew Caspian, they'd loved Caspian, but they wouldn't want to hear how their little brother couldn't get him out of his head. They would tell him it was hopeless, that he should just move on.

He didn't want to move on.

•

  
"What's on your mind?"

Peter was back for a rare visit, and he and Edmund had made off to the backyard to whack each other with sticks for a while. It didn't help that Edmund kept fixating on how tiny their yard was, how ill-equipped to house a proper sparring session.

"Caspian," he said, and immediately regretted it. _Narnia_ , he meant to say _Narnia_ , but Peter gave him this odd look of appraisal down the length of his stick.

"Prince Caspian? How is he, anyway?" He whirled around and attacked, but Edmund met his thrust easily; parried, dodged.

"It's King, now."

"Right. I'd forgotten."

 _Of course you did_ , Edmund thought. _You've forgotten everything._

"....He's doing... fine," he finally managed, several attacks and blocks later. "I suppose. Not like I have any idea," he added with a bit of a snap.

Peter didn't press the issue, but by his very silence, he let Edmund know exactly what he thought of that attitude.

•

  
Finally, Edmund had to face up to the facts - America made him miserable, England would be intolerable alone, and neither would solve the problem of missing Narnia and her king, which was growing worse daily. Edmund found himself pulling up the memories of their time together, over and over - sparring with him, sleeping, talking, the way he looked with his hair pulled half-back and the way he lunged for him when it was time to leave. How he clung, fiercely, and how his lips had pressed to Edmund's collar in a wordless communication. _Remember me,_ it seemed to say. _Don't forget how much I care._

Not that that was conclusive or anything, but Edmund couldn't forget it anyway.

•

  
It was as he was cleaning out the ashes from the fireplace that remembered the full contents of Eustace's letter, and not just the incriminating bits.

 _Find your own way to Narnia_ , he'd said.

But he couldn't. Aslan had said they weren't coming back. He said they had learned all they could. Like Narnia was just some sort of training ground, like it wasn't real, like it wasn't _theirs_.

But hadn't Aslan also said that you could always find a way to Narnia when you needed it?

He needed it now.

•

  
He sat down with Susan at the kitchen table and tried to help with her baking, cutting the dough into neat little squares that she would presumably somehow transfigure into tarts.

"I'm going back to Narnia," he said.

Susan paused, her stirring spoon coming to a halt for a long moment before slowly starting up again.

"Oh, Edmund," she said quietly. "You can't."

"I'll find a way."

"There isn't any other way." She set it down and looked him full in the eye. "Narnia doesn't need us anymore, and you don't need it, either."

But his eyes were colder, his heart colder, and - not for the first time since arriving - he felt like his sister was a stranger.

"That's not true," he said, and stood up, strode out of the room. He wasn't a petulant child or a mulish teenager. He was a man, a young man but a man nonetheless, and he knew where he belonged.

•

  
He decided that he would get to Narnia by having the right key. He would find a key that could open any doors, and that door would lead to Narnia.

"What d'you need a key for, anyway?" Lucy asked, as she followed her brother through a seemingly endless string of street markets.

He was sifting through a whole box of them, picking each one up and holding it in his hand and trying to decide how magical it may or may not be. "A present," he said, and it was true. The very first thing he'd do when he got to Narnia would be to drop to one knee and press this key into Caspian's hands, and then he would kiss him. Edmund hadn't thought beyond that. His brain seemed to get stuck on the kissing bit a lot.

"Mmm, I see," Lucy said, clearly communicating 'No, I don't see, but you're my brother and I'm putting up with you.' "How about this one?"

She plucked one from the pile and held it up to the light, and Edmund knew instantly that she'd found it. This was the key that would take him to Narnia.

It was small but long, made of brass, with a large loop at the top for keeping on a keyring or a chain. The shank was fluted, the bit small and delicate, and the bow was made of tiny curling vines. It was perfect.

"That one," he said, his throat dry.

"You're leaving, aren't you."

He stared at her. She was simply looking at the key, turning it over and over in her hands.

"...You're trying to find a way back to Narnia. For good, this time." Her throat worked and he could see tears, in her eyes, and it made him feel horrible but, in a way, relieved. Lucy was the one he'd dreaded telling.

"Yeah," he said, his voice rough.

"...Aslan said," and now she had to draw a shaky breath, had to steady herself, "that we didn't need Narnia anymore. That we were to live our lives here, and he'd always be watching over us. That's what he said."

Edmund plucked the key from her hands and paid for it. "I'm not going back for Aslan."

•

  
Caspian had set the horn of summoning in a prominent place among the castle's treasures. This was in part because it was such a special symbol of Narnia's history, but also so he could look at it, every day, and wish that he could use it.

But no. The horn must only be used in times of need, and Narnia had no such need. It had a good king, a fine king. It didn't need an extra four.

And really, there was just one in particular that he wanted to summon back, for reasons completely unrelated to saving the world.

It was said that Aslan could not manifest without the kings and queens; it was said that he only appeared when the fate of Narnia itself was in danger. It was said, but the impact his appearances had made was felt all throughout the kingdom, by everyone, including Caspian.

But still. He did not expect to see the beautiful lion sitting suddenly across from him, in the Hall of Treasures.

"You wish to use the horn," he said.

Caspian sat up straighter in his chair. "My lord," he murmured. Then, realizing Aslan was waiting for a confirmation, he ducked his head. "...Yes. At times, yes. But it's just an idle wish. Narnia has no need."

The great lion rose to his feet, then, and began to walk towards him, circling around the display until he could wrap around Caspian's stool and bump his head under the king's hands. "As the leader of Narnia, you _are_ Narnia. Listen to your own philosophies, for isn't it you who believes that no man's needs are any less important than another's?"

Caspian's eyes grew wide and he stared, incredulous, down at Aslan. "Yes," he said, "but..."

He trailed off, the protest dying under the gentle admonishment in Aslan's eyes.

"He's looking for you, too," he said, and then he disappeared, before Caspian could even say a word.

Caspian, King of Narnia, braced his hands on his knees and thought about things like want versus need, about the future of his kingdom, but really, mostly he just thought about Edmund. He thought about the first moment he knew there was something special about him, when a wall of ice had shattered and suddenly he was face to face with a boy who had more courage than Caspian could ever dream of. He thought of how it felt to see him again, on the ship, how it felt to fight with him and beside him and that panicked, heartstruck feeling when he'd thought Edmund had been injured, or worse.

He thought about having to say goodbye, and how it was so, so much harder the second time.

Caspian, King of Narnia, pushed to his feet and blew the horn.

•

  
It was late that night when, back in his room, Caspian heard the door to his washroom open, and he was awake and on his feet instantly, wary of intruders. What he didn't expect - well, he'd expected it to happen at some point, but he figured he'd have to go pull him out of the sea again - was for Edmund Pevensie to fall face-first onto his floor, then to scramble to his feet, look around, and exclaim, "I did it!"

Caspian was both confused and overjoyed, but in the face of Edmund's words, the first won out. "Did what?"

"I made it. I made it back, I made it here. I - "

And that was when Edmund seemed to really realize where he was, or rather, _who_ he was with, and Caspian's heart skipped a beat as he realized the same thing.

"Edmund," Caspian muttered, quickly, "I - "

But then Edmund did the most extraordinary thing. He took one of Caspian's hands, fell to the floor on one knee in a way that no king should bow to another, and he pressed something deep into the recess of Caspian's palm.

It was a key. A slim brass key, delicate and leafy, and very beautiful, though otherwise unremarkable.

"I told myself," Edmund was saying quietly, "that I wouldn't stop until I found a way to get back here, for good. It doesn't matter what Aslan says and it doesn't matter what I'm supposed to learn or what destiny I have, I'm a grown-up and I can choose whatever life I wish." He looked up at Caspian, and he felt his heart stop. "I choose you."

Caspian didn't know what to say. He didn't have the words, didn't know where to begin, except for maybe _Yes_ and _Please_ and _Never leave me again_. He pulled Edmund to his feet, first off, but it seemed that motion was one that led right up to Edmund's lips and how they were suddenly against his, with a hand in his hair, and his erratic heartbeat was suddenly pounding like a big bass drum. He tightened his hands in Edmund's strange other-world clothes, pulled him close and clung tighter and kissed back with all he had. _I want this, I want you, I need you with me,_ he was trying to say, and Edmund seemed to understand.

•

  
Caspian turned the key over and over in his hands. "You said," he began, and Edmund looked up with incredibly rumpled hair and huge dark eyes that brimmed with affection. "You said... that you found a way in. With this key, I presume," he added. Edmund nodded.

Caspian chose his next words carefully. "...And you said that you didn't care what Aslan thought, about your destiny. That you chose this."

"Yes," Edmund said, quite firmly.

Caspian closed his fingers around the key and bit his lip. "...I blew the horn for you," he said. "Not hours prior. I've been thinking about it every since you left, but..."

He had Edmund's full attention. There was a spark of something defiant in his eyes, which was familiar but not very comforting, and Caspian knew that he wouldn't like what he had to say next, but he had to say it. If they were to do this, if this was the life they both wanted (and that had just been amply demonstrated to him), there must be no secrets between them.

"...It was Aslan who told me that I should. He came to me and said that, by my own words, no man's need is any less than anyone else's." He reached a hand up and stroked his fingertips down Edmund's face, loving, worshipping. "And I needed you."

Edmund leaned into the touch but he was quiet for a long minute, long enough that Caspian, still petting him, thought he must have forgotten what they were discussing. But then, suddenly, he sighed and said, "Aslan. He _does_ know what he's doing, doesn't he." It was a statement, not a question.

Caspian bent down and kissed Edmund's lips with a smile on his face. "Yes," he said, "he does."

•

  
Edmund found Aslan deep in the woods, as usual. He was sunning himself on a rock and Edmund curled up next to him, buried his hands in his fur and scratched until the lion let out a low, rumbling purr.

"Are you happy, young one?" he asked.

"Yes," Edmund said, and for the first time in a long time, he meant it. He missed Lucy and Susan and Peter and Eustace and his parents - of course he did. But he understood, now, how they were able to move on and build lives of their own, and be happy in them. He had just been trying in all the wrong places.

"I do have one question, though."

Aslan rolled over onto his belly and tucked his paws up under his chest, looking both regal and relaxed at the same time. "Ask."

Edmund felt incredibly awkward talking about this, but it was important, he had to. "Back in England, Lucy was saying that she'd found your other name - you know, what you said to her, about being called something else in... that world." He'd almost said 'our', but that world was no longer his. "She said you were Jesus."

It must have been incredibly obvious that the idea made Edmund uncomfortable, for the great lion chuckled a little and Edmund could see him smile. "She may call me whatever she wishes," he said, in his usual Aslan-like aphorisms.

"But _is_ that who you are?" Edmund couldn't explain why it was important. Maybe he needed proof, maybe he wanted to be right, or maybe he just thought Aslan was better than that, better than the dry, meaningless Christian dogma of his youth.

"No." Aslan shook his head slowly. "It is not. I am considerably older than the Son of God, though we share many things in common."

Justified and now thoroughly intrigued, Edmund leaned forward on his hands. "Well?" he asked. "What is it?" After all, it wasn't like he was ever going back. No secrets to keep, no mysteries to solve.

Aslan merely chuckled once again. "In your birth world, Edmund, I was called Herakles, and I did not learn wisdom in a day."

•

  
Narnia had always been open-minded. It was in the very nature of the place, for this was a place of the strange and the unusual, of the Imagination, of magic.

So it was without fuss that Narnia welcomed its first pair of Kings in marriage, made easier, to be sure, by the simple fact that it was Edmund and Caspian and everyone already loved them. Narnian succession had never been simply hereditary anyway, and thus it was that King Edmund and King Caspian lived out their days - together, openly, and dearly loved.

•

  
But this is the story that never leaves Narnia. It waits, you see, for the time to be right, for the world to be ready for a boy who breaks all the rules and makes his own destiny for the sake of love. 


End file.
